


A Safe Return

by ilovecharles



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Major Character Injury, Mini, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Racism, Romance, Singing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovecharles/pseuds/ilovecharles
Summary: A mini-fic prompt from @wholovecharles on tumblr.





	A Safe Return

Your fingers worked patiently with the needle in your hand, carrying it through the bullet holes of the fabric on your lap; through and between the frayed patchwork of the garment and out again for your other hand to pull through. A recent gunfight with the Lemoyne Raiders had left you and the other women at camp with a lot of shirts to fix up, and clearly you weren’t the only one tired of this chore. An irritated sigh sounded from above you on the opposite crate where a impatient Mary-Beth sat, mending at a pair of men’s long johns that also had holes from the shootout evident on the material. 

The camp was quiet and tense; Arthur hadn’t been home in days. He usually left for nights at a time for hunting or privacy but this time it was serious – ‘O’Driscoll serious’, as Dutch had put it. A visibly anxious Charles sat upon a stump at the campfire, steady hands sharpening a point in his perfected arrows. Much like yourself, Charles was probably closest to Arthur, and right now you were trying not to think the worst. As if sensing your worry, he met your gaze with his lash framed coffee eyes and you shared a shaky smile as if comforting each other for a brief moment. The butterflies in your stomach run a mile at the interaction and you look back down at your chores to avoid blushing like a fresh beet. 

These past six months had been confusing for you. A new member; mysterious, quiet, private, and yet there was something about him that felt familiar. Almost like you were meant to be, you stifled an embarrassed giggle each time that thought crossed your busy mind. Romance didn’t last when you were on the run, even if you were running together. An outlaws life is constantly on the line, how can you care for someone if any day has a high chance of being their last? You had comforted Molly numerous times, wiping running rouge from her tear stained cheeks and guiding hair from her eyes as she cried about Dutch. 

Your thoughts were torn away as a short and shy Kieran made his way past the women’s tents, a barrel of bundled hay for the horses clutched at his chest. Mary-Beth’s breath hitched in her throat and she stilled slightly, her eyes drifting from the patchwork to Kieran’s. He stopped briefly before you both before letting out a shaky greeting with a violent shade of pink staining the apples of his cheeks. “____. M-Mary-Beth, you look real ‘purty to-”

His compliment was cut short by a drunken and stumbling Micah, whisky in hand and black leather trench-coat slipping from one of his shoulders. He brought an arm around a visibly terrified Kieran. “What you doin’ interrupting the help, boy?” The overpowering stench of alcohol laced the condescending words that fell with his rancid breath, so strong it wafted to yourself and Mary-Beth. “Ya’ know what I think? I think ya’ know exactly where Arthur is, so why don’t ya’ just tell us and Dutch’ll kill ya’ quick.” Micah’s tone became impatient and knife-like with anger, one of his fists came up clutch at Kieran’s throat and he dropped the bundle to the ground in shock. Charles lifted from his seat, yourself and Mary-Beth did the same, and hurried over in angry strides to the scene before him. A large fist connected with Micah’s smug grin and he stumbled backwards, releasing his grip on a shaken Kieran. 

“The help! Have some goddamn respect!” Charles shouted. Micah flinched at his fiery temperament; an angry Charles was more than a rare occurrence - he’s the pinnacle of ‘calm and collected’. You stepped forward, grabbing Charles clinched fist to signal him to step away, that Micah’s less than worth it. Charles complied and held your hand, squeezing it quickly as a thank you.

A calm and mocking laugh erupted from Micah and he turned back to his towering opponent, his gaze settled on the scene before him. “A darkie? Aren’t you the lucky one.” The words slithered from tongue serpent-like and your blood boiled at his words. He lifted a clenched fist up to wipe at the blood beginning to seep from his busted and bruised bottom lip. “Now that I think about it – Arthur’s probably de-” 

Thankfully, Micah’s moment was cut short by the abrupt rearing of Arthur’s horse from the bushes. His white Arabian, Eliza, came to a dramatic halt before all of you. Loud and extremely agitated whinnies erupted from her as she jumped and skid across the flaky dirt, bashing into the side of the wagon and her saddle was hanging loose around her back, atop of it lay a bloodied and bruised Arthur. His body lay across the saddle limp and barely conscious, slight droplets of blood from Arthur’s wounds painted themselves upon the perfect white coat of his mare.

“Arthur!” Mary-Beth exclaimed from beside you, running alongside yourself and Charles to the fragile man. 

___________

Charles lifted the tent flap from outside, entering quietly as to not wake the restful and recovering Arthur, a cup of water and a fresh bowl of Pearson’s stew in hand. His eyes drifted across the tent to where you had perched yourself in a flimsy chair beside Arthur’s cot. His gentle faced sent a genuine smile your way, you returned the favour as he sat in a chair opposite.

“How’s he doin’?” Charles spoke quietly, placing the stew and water on Arthur’s table. Your eyes drift to the loose tendrils of his hair that splay past his face, the curls creating slight shadows against his cheeks. You take a second to admire this otherwise dull detail before snapping yourself out of the sudden daze. 

“Susan said he’ll be awake in no time: bullet wound on his shoulder is healin’ real nicely. Jus’ needs to take it slow for a few days.” You both shared a muffled giggle, knowing full well Arthur isn’t one to ‘take it slow’. “Anyway.” You chimed, meeting his calm intense gaze. The tent became practically airtight around you and an inevitable blush spread across your rosy cheeks. His gaze bored into yours, almost challenging you to look away – to which you refused to comply. 

“____.” Arthur croaked from the cot beside you suddenly. Both yourself and Charles tore from each others intense gaze. You lifted a palm to Arthur’s forehead and it radiated a heat against your skin along with a thick sheen of sweat. Charles brought the cup of water to Arthur’s mouth whilst lifting him to sit against the cots headboard. He gulped down the water appreciatively and winced at the deep pain in his shoulder. “Damn O’Driscolls.” He muttered, stretching his legs out in satisfaction. “How long was I out for?”

“Three days.” Charles answers coolly, placing the empty cup back down beside him. 

“Shoulda’ sent you a postcard back from O’Driscoll paradise.” Arthur joked, prodding the bruised skin of his arms. The three of you giggled in response and the atmosphere around embraced you with safety and familiarity, especially now that Arthur was home. The two most important men in your life sat beside you – Arthur, practically your brother after all of these years on the run together, and Charles, a man that made your knees weak and your heart heavy.

“We should have a party later in camp. To celebrate Arthur’s safe return.” You thought aloud, Charles nodded appreciatively at your response; tensions in camp were thick and awkward, getting everyone drunk and joyful was usually the only time people let their guard down – it was more than much needed, it was deserved. 

“I don’t want no fuss.” Arthur grumbled, shifting from beneath the thin linen sheet upon his lap. 

“I’ve got just the thing.” Charles answered, sifting from the pocket of his dark slacks before bringing out his trusty silver harmonica. “We’ll just celebrate in here, the three of us.” He lifted the instrument to his plump plush lips and began to create a delightful melody that swayed its way around the tents confines. You recognised the tune, a particular favourite among camp thanks to Uncles typical drunken singing antics. Yourself and Arthur began to clap along with wide grins to his notes and Arthur urged you to join.

“I don’t have an instrument, Arthur.” You pleaded, pouting your lips slightly at him like any other annoying sister would.

“Isn’t the voice an instrument?” He teased, continuing to clap along. You poured again and he smiled at you smugly. “You said it yourself, a party for me.” He chuckled and you gave in, plucking up your courage and singing sweetly along with Charles harmonica. His eyes lifted to yours and he clung to your words as your instruments bounced off of one another, dancing perfectly together like ice cream on a hot summers day or fresh coffee in the early mornings.

“Well, let me have a ruler and a saw and a board  
And I’ll cut it  
I’ll climb up the ladder with a hammer and a nail   
And I’ll nail it”

“Well, we worked so hard to build a little house   
Together   
In the snow or the rain or the ice cold wind  
Whenever” 

“No matter   
Any weather  
We’re together” 

Charles set down the harmonica and began to join in, the smile plastered across his face sent the butterflies a-mock again in your chest. You were both supposed to be looking after Arthur, and yet, he practically disappeared in your mind. Right now, you shared the moment with Charles. His voice replaced the harmonica just as sweetly, your voices melded together and it took all of your willpower not to lean forward and press your lips against his like you’d always wanted to. For now, a sweet song in a cheap tent would have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr @i-love-charles!


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